The Captain's Return. Elizabeth Bailey

attention, had returned to her task of shovelling earth from a growing hole. A pink tongue protruded between her lips as she hefted the spade, which was over-large for her small hands, and dribbled the small load it contained on to a pile to one side of the bed being worked.

      Her errant father’s disapproval was not lost on Annabel. Her voice took on sarcasm. “Child labour. It is never too early to start when one’s future is going to depend upon one’s own efforts.”

      She received a look that chilled her, and his tone was gruff. “That was uncalled for.”

      Annabel felt herself falling into remorse, and quickly rallied. “As was your untimely appearance upon the scene in the guise of my dead husband.”

      Hal toyed with the tempting notion of dragging her up from the grass where she sat and shaking her until the teeth rattled in her head. That, or turning abruptly from her and kicking the dust of this place from his heels! Regretfully, either course was ineligible. He knew he had bought into this, and must take the consequences. It would not help to give rein to his unruly temper. He drew in his horns.

      “When you are free, I would appreciate an opportunity to discuss our situation.”

      “Your situation. It has been none of my creating.”

      “Devil take it, Annabel, come down off your high ropes! May we not call a truce?”

      The exasperation in his voice had startled Rebecca into dropping her shovel. She began instantly to cry.

      “Now see what you’ve done!”

      But Annabel’s attention shifted quickly to her daughter. It had not been, she at once guessed, the loud voice that had upset the child, but the consequent ruin of her careful efforts. Rebecca was notoriously sensitive concerning any little task she undertook. She would tolerate neither interference nor destruction in any part of what she had achieved.

      The earth had scattered, spoiling the neatness of her arrangements. It did not matter that her own unsteady hand had left a trail between the hole and the dirt pile, for that was part of the pattern. But her complaints, which were largely unintelligible through her sobs, evidently encompassed that area which had been dirtied by the little accident, for her small fists were beating at the ground.

      “Come now, Becky, that is enough!” said Annabel with authority. “See, I will clean it for you, and it will be as good as ever.”